Sick Of The Dance
by lovingcaptainswan
Summary: "Emma had never liked to dance." After getting her memories back and defeating the Wicked Witch of the West, life in the Enchanted Forest has slowed down and things between Emma and Hook haven't been going any faster. Captain Swan Oneshot. Rated M for smut.


Emma had never liked to dance.

She didn't mean bouncing to a catchy tune in the car or doing an excited little skip or hop when she was alone (not that she'd ever do that) – no - real, stumbling, awkward, stepping on toes, breathing the same air and trying not to get fondled by strange men she didn't know dancing.

She'd skirted past them in middle school and highschool more often than not, and other times she'd lurked in the shadows until she followed the inevitable group of kids out back for some spiked punch.

The last time she remembered actually properly dancing with a date, she was fourteen years old and teachers had ushered _everybody_ out onto the dance floor. A tall, wiry boy a year or so older named Kyle had grabbed her hand and smiled at her encouragingly as everyone begrudgingly began to fill the empty gymnasium. The music played; she couldn't remember the song. She had danced like she had two left feet (it's not like she ever had anyone to teach her this stuff) but they got along well enough, moving together slowly like two awkward teenagers would, occasionally exchanging shy smiles or comments about how lame this whole thing was. He'd called her pretty and something inside of her fluttered when she realized that she liked the shade of green his eyes were and how nicely it went with his dark blonde hair. After the dance, he had asked her to have sex with him and then called her ugly when she'd said no.

_Yeah. _

Emma had never been a big fan of dancing - not with her feet and not around feelings - and fifteen years later, she realized that she liked the latter even less than the former.

Emma appreciated directness. If she was interested, you'd know it, and if she wasn't, you'd sure as hell know it then too, but this thing with Hook – whatever _this _was – definitely felt like dancing.

It'd been over a month since she had arrived in the Enchanted Forest, almost three weeks since things had died down after defeating the Wicked Witch (cross another evil villain she never thought she'd meet off the list) and the kingdom was slowly but surely falling back into a certain cautious sort of normalcy. Things were okay, things were _good _even (if you could call a world without electricity and coffee _good_), everything falling back into place as much as life could when you go from living in New York to freaking Fairytale Land.

Everything except her and Hook.

To say that since she'd gotten her memories back things had been… _strange _between them would be an understatement, but between witches and poison poppies and flying fucking monkeys they hadn't had the time to talk or think about it and it was probably better that way, due to the circumstances surrounding her return. Her family had needed her, needed _them_ – so they were there. They'd fought side by side, the same team that they had always been, almost as if she'd never lost her memories at all. But now, in the calm, in the quiet and the peace, walking the gardens or tending to her new horse at the stables, the way he looked at her was bridging on terrifying for someone who hadn't been in a long term relationship in over a decade, and the way that she didn't want him to stop it was twice as scary.

There had been a tangible, unspoken change in their relationship. The closeness, the friendly touches, the lingering looks that they'd shared in Neverland; they all came back full force but with a new depth. It was innocent, it was normal, but it was _intimate_, and even still, there was this distance between them, this line that both of them refused to cross. Casual words were accompanied by tones that felt just a little bit too deep, a little bit too meaningful, and a little bit too_ tense_ to be nothing, none of it ever arriving at that looming crescendo.

She hadn't even bothered trying not to think about it. She couldn't help it every time she saw him, every time he smiled.

Killian Jones had come back for her – _again_. He'd crossed realms to find her, he'd tried True Love's Kiss to break the curse - that in itself was pretty damned heavy stuff, but now – nothing.

They were always together, subtly touching in one way or another, elbows or shoulders grazing when they stood too close (which was more often than not). Once, while they'd been talking in the palace gardens he'd unexpectedly brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and she had relaxed into the warm touch on her cheek, heart skipping, practically holding her breath- and then there was David, calling for Hook, clearing his throat awkwardly enough to ruin the moment.

It was always like that with them, someone interrupting them if it wasn't their own feelings of inadequacy or trepidation that stopped them, that fear that something else would tear them apart if they let themselves get too close.

But the way he looked at her now – it shook her. He looked at her like she was his everything, like she was his world and Emma Swan didn't know if she could be anyone's _world_. It made her heart feel like it was going to pound out of her chest and it bore a tension that was difficult to ignore but she managed it, sort of, not really.

Emma imagined what it'd be like to be with him in lonely moments, dreamt it once or twice, waking up flushed and tense, blood still pumping like he had actually been in her bed with her, fingers inching down her thighs, hot mouth closed around a pert nipple. But whenever she got too close, he drew back. Every time she thought he might kiss her, she suddenly heard her mother or Henry calling and this back and forth was getting them nowhere but neither of them seemed willing to breach the subject, the reality of the situation, of the overwhelming possibilities stuttering them, stunting any forward movement.

She felt like the words _true love_ were practically being whispered in the hallways. She saw the way her parents looked at her when she was with him, hell – she'd even heard Regina joke about it once with her typical, sarcastic sort of honesty and she wanted to laugh because_ clearly _they were meant to be when they couldn't even _talk_ to each other about their fucking feelings. She rolled her eyes whenever she thought about it, an outer rebellion to her inner struggle, that tornado of emotions battling against what she called her common sense and _fuck_!

This was stupid and too much pressure for someone she'd really only kissed_ once_!

But she wanted more and maybe she fought against it because everyone expected it to happen, but she was done waiting for it, tired of looking at the longing in his eyes, only for one of them to leave when it got too heavy.

She was tired of this highschool crap.

She was doing this.

Emma strode through the doors of the castle's expansive library with a purpose, head held high, jaw set into a determined line.

She could do this.

It wasn't a big deal.

It was just sex. She'd done… sex before. _Shit._ The fact that she'd just thought the phrase "done sex" was worrisome in itself.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

"Swan?"

He lifted his head when he heard her walk in, successfully halting her thoughts. The smile on his face was bright and warm and almost startled, like every time he saw her it was a pleasant surprise that made his day and _god_, she didn't know what this was, what _this was_ between them, but she was slowly realizing that she loved just having someone look at her like that.

His posture straightened, and he set his book down onto the small table beside his large, clawed armchair where he had been thumbing through the pages of an old, dusty looking volume. She smirked. She couldn't help it. In the time that she'd known him, he'd become so much more than the feared Captain Hook (not that she'd ever been afraid of Mr. _I'm-A-Poor-Blacksmith-Don't-Hurt-Me_ Jones), but sometimes seeing him so damned domestic, hook and leather coat and all, curled up with a book in a library she almost let herself think the word _adorable_, but caught herself, as if he'd read her mind and give her a look like she'd physically wounded him.

Stupid pirate.

The urge to smile became too much once again and instead, Emma took a deep breath. _It's now or never, Emma. _

"I need to talk with you."

He stood immediately. "Is everything alright?" Concern etched his expression, worry creasing lines into his face as he took a protective step towards her and he was so genuine, so _real_. Emma didn't know if she'd ever had anyone really _look at her_ like that, like he'd swim the entire ocean, cross the world if it meant getting to her – and he _had_.

_Fuck_, he really _had_.

_Come on, Emma. Someone's gotta make the first move, you've never had a problem before._ The pep talk worked until a small voice reminded her that she'd never cared enough for it to matter. _Screw it._

"Yeah, I just- I just want to talk to you about something."

"What is it, love?"

He reached for her hand as if it was the most natural choice in the world and drew her closer, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. She moved and heard his breath catch when she pressed her body against him lightly, grasping gently at the lapels of his coat, just like she had in Neverland. She played with the corners a bit, brushing a thumb over the edges and smoothing lines into the sides with her fingers, chewing on her bottom lip nervously until she slowly raised her chin, meeting his gaze.

"Emma, talk to me. Has something happened?"

The alarm in his voice caught her off guard and _damn it_, she must be rustier than she thought.

"Nothing's wrong, Hook, I just-"

Their lips were so close. She could feel his breath hot on her face and it was as disconcerting and strange as ever, but in a different way than it would be with a stranger.

She didn't mind it.

"I'm just tired of dancing."

She shook her head and with a quick breath and a rush of courage that came out of nowhere, she yanked at his coat. Their lips collided with a similar roughness and passion as Neverland, but this time, he sighed into the kiss, the sound of a dying man leaving his chest in a cross between a whimper and a groan as if he'd been waiting for this for centuries and they pulled at each other in an old and familiar dance (one that she _didn't _mind). His surprise quickly morphed into understanding and lust as his hand moved to cup the back of her head. She felt his lips pulling and sucking softly at hers and felt teeth bite down on her bottom lip for half a second before she opened her mouth. Their tongues slid out and against each other, their kiss rough and raw and needy, full of fire, electric. She felt his hook slip around her waist to urge her closer, and a surprised gasp left her mouth, a rush of heat flushing through her body, leaving her tingly and wanting. She pulled him even closer, sucking his tongue into her mouth and the groan that rose from deep in his chest almost did her in. _He wanted her._ She'd known it all along, but feeling and hearing the physical manifestation of that want was something that she had needed. She could feel it in his kiss, in the firm insistence of his hook at her back, and she could definitely feel it through those leather pants he never seemed to want to trade for something more comfortable.

She heard him make another quiet noise in the back of his throat as he continued to kiss her, and suddenly it wasn't enough; kissing him wasn't enough. She'd gone into this knowing she was going to kiss him, even considering the idea that it'd turn into sex, but Emma had thought about this too much for her own good, and all at once, she had other ideas.

She pushed back, demanding entrance back into his mouth and kissing him deeply, pushing her hands beneath his coat and walking him back into the chair behind him. He fell back into it with a surprised _umph_ but simply reached for her, pulling her back to his mouth as if he needed her to breathe, and _god, _she felt like _she_ needed him to breathe too. She needed his mouth, his touch, the noises he made, his smile, his laugh, she needed it all and she needed it all the time and it was terrifying and amazing all at once.

So she made a decision.

Emma resisted his attempts to pull her into his lap and instead kissed down his scruff, sliding her lips down his jaw, his neck, sucking lightly at his pulse for a moment before nipping at his collarbone. She felt him loll his head back into the chair and gasped, his hand moving up and down her side, still trying to urge her closer, but her fingers were already undoing his pants and moving inside to grasp him, stroking his up and down once, purely on instinct as she pulled him free of the leather.

"_Emma_."

Hearing her name, hoarse and desperate did things to her, damn did it do things to her, and she wanted to hear it more.

Before he had a chance to protest, she dropped to her knees and braced herself with her hands, digging them into his thighs. Flutters of nerves and anticipation swirled around her belly only for a short instant and then she had him in her mouth and heard him choking on air, gasping loudly and grasping blindly for her hair.

She'd only looked at him for a second before she'd gone for it, half afraid that she'd chicken out if she didn't just react, but now that he was in her mouth, she realized how thick he was. It almost too much to be comfortable, resting at that line of being able to slip in and out of her mouth with only the slightest brush against her teeth. His hand drifted from her hair to her shoulder, almost pushing her away and pulling her closer at the same time, but she only gripped at his thighs harder and slid up and down his length at a leisurely pace, getting herself used to doing this again.

"Emma, what- " he gasped and she rubbed her tongue along the underside of his cock experimentally. His hand tightened into her hair and she did it again, this time moving her head along with the motion. "Ohh, that feels so- gods, I-"

She breathed deeply through her nose and started to bob her head and his words stopped abruptly, dissolving into short _oh_ and _ah_ sounding grunts, his fist tightening almost to the point of being painful... and she fucking _loved it_. Emma had wanted to do this, wanted to do _something _about the tension, but she had never realized the rush she would get from the feeling of him pulling at her hair and listening to the sounds he made as she took him in even deeper, only to draw her mouth back up and let him slip out. It was empowering, erotic, feeling slightly used yet completely in control at the same time.

"_Fuck."_ His hips rocked upwards the slightest bit, freezing abruptly as he realized what he had done, struggling to remain still. "Gods, your _mouth_." His voice squeaked and rasped, out of breath. "So hot, so, so, good, Emma."

Emma's lips curved around him, sucking for a moment, and then she pulled off of him with a wet, sloppy sound, licking a line from his base to his tip, tasting the salty, tangy taste of precum on her tongue.

"That wicked tongue," he moaned, raising his hips, making his cock brush against the corner of her mouth, begging her not to stop. "Gods, Emma, I've thought of this. I must be bloody dreaming."

Emma smiled and licked him again, savoring his replying sigh. She wasn't even sure if he was aware of what he was saying at this point, his speech slurred and soft and rough at the same time under his breath, but she loved that he liked to talk. She'd been with too many guys who expected you to scream their name like they were God's damn gift to mankind and then barely grunted when they came, like you didn't deserve the same appreciation, but he was practically whimpering, writhing beneath her, urging her on for more, and she was more than happy to give it to him.

"Emma." His voice became more insistent and he was tugging at her hair. He massaged his fingers into it, rocking her head onto him and then stopping suddenly, just like when he had tried to thrust into her mouth, his body reacting on its own, only barely controlled by his hazy mind. She wanted to tell him that he was fine, but that would mean stopping, so she didn't. Instead, she rounded her lips into an 'o' and plunged her head downwards, struggling to take as much of him in as possible until she choked, just a little. She pulled back to ease the pressure, just enough to keep her from gagging and continued to bob, going faster now, hollowing out her cheeks and sucking until she got to his tip. She sucked hard and his hips bucked.

"Emma, _gods_, you'll have me undone."

She released him with a final lick over the head of his cock and pressed into his thighs for leverage, sliding onto his lap and crawling up his chest with a chuckle. She leaned in to lick at the v in his shirt and nibble at his collar.

"You're perfect. Beautiful. Bloody brilliant," he mumbled, and then tugged at her hair back just enough so she was looking into his eyes. "Gods, I love you."

She stilled, frozen, terrified, until finally, she found her voice again. "I know," she nodded, fear rising up in her and choking back the words that she had briefly considered saying, and instead, attacked his neck with hot, slow, wet kisses, giving him a moment to recover hoping that he'd forget how stupid she felt like she had sounded.

She wasn't ready for that type of commitment, but she also wasn't done with him yet, not when it felt this good just to _do this_.

"I love you," he said it again like a prayer, moaning deliciously when she laved her tongue across his pulse point and sucked just shy of making a mark. His hand was travelling freely now, up her side, cupping her breast through her shirt, squeezing gently, and sliding back down her side in a shaky pattern, fingers occasionally toying with the frayed bottom of her shirt and slipping beneath to caress the warm skin beneath it.

"Emma, come," he very nearly begged her and she knew it, thrills of excitement coursing through her in electric tingles. His hand and hook were urging her to sit fully atop him. "You've got me like a bloody rock, love," he half chuckled, half groaned, kissing at the hollow of her neck, nipping the flesh delicately. "Let me have you, Darling," he rasped, breathing rough and unevenly as his trembling hand tried in vain to pull her shirt up her back.

She considered it for a moment, she really did, riding him into the chair in the middle of her parents' library (well,_ her_ library too, she supposed. It was all still so strange), but she was enjoying herself too much, the thrill of finally just taking what she wanted, what she'd thought about for so long making her feel alive and in control, god, she hadn't felt like she'd been in control of her life in so damned long and she didn't want to give any of it up, even for this. Not this time.

She knocked his hand away with a sly smile, biting down on her bottom lip playfully and leaning in close to his ear, making sure that her breasts rubbed against his chest. "I need something from you," she whispered, nipping at his earlobe making him flinch. "I need you to sit back… and _enjoy this_ for me."

She heard his sharp intake of breath and then she was back on the floor, on her knees, kissing and licking a stripe up his stiff cock and feeling the vein jump beneath her tongue. Emma glanced up playfully, knowing she must look a sight, hair mussed, tongue flicked out, tasting his tip. "You can move, you know." And with that, she opened wide and took him in deeply, not stopping until he hit the back of her throat and his groan reverberated through his whole body in a shudder.

He didn't hold back this time.

He immediately set a shaky, stuttering rhythm of gentle thrusts into her mouth, each jerk of his hips accompanied by a breathy moan, his hand guiding her head in a new way that actually guided her this time, rather than just resting on her head for something to hold onto. She learned exactly how deeply he liked it with the movement of his hips, the extra sensitive spot just below the head of his cock when he let out a stifled cry when she pressed her tongue there, the way it almost made him lose control completely when she sucked and licked around the tip like it were a piece of candy and she fucking loved having him in her mouth like this, making him lose control, come undone. It was as if every moment, every look, every touch, every time she'd wanted to kiss him had been leading up to this and as much as the tension had frustrated her, it was making it so much better.

He pushed her head down almost roughly, causing him to graze the back of her throat. She took the opportunity to swallow and he swore harshly, digging his fingers, twisting knots into her hair, but she didn't care and swallowed again, her fingers massaging his thighs soothingly while he gasped and whimpered, so close to the edge. She heard the brief sound of tearing cloth and realized with a wince that his hook had been ripping into the fabric of the chair (she'd just have to figure out how to explain that one away later).

"Emma, Emma, gods, I love you-I love you so bloody much," his hand twisted into her golden curls frantically for a final time, his entire body stiffening sharply. She swirled her tongue around his length and slid down him a single, smooth motion. "_Emma_, I'm-"

His orgasm hit before he had a chance to warn her, but he was already pressed deep, spilling down her throat as he came in long, lilting "_mmm_" sounds, teeth biting savagely into his bottom lip to bite back his own moans and eyes bright and opened wide as he watched her swallow him down. She looked up, straight back into his eyes, all the while sucking at him gently, riding him through his release until he began to soften in her mouth. Finally, she drew herself back torturously slowly until he slipped out of her mouth and flopped against his leather, moist and spent.

She licked her lips then wiped her forearm across her mouth for good measure, pressing herself up into a standing position and glancing back at the closed doors of the library, sighing and smiling with an odd sense of triumph.

"Gods. What-What the bloody hell was that?" He asked once he'd caught his breath.

"That," she replied, turning back with a smirk on her lips, relief flooding through her veins at the thought that this was finally over, no more hiding, no more of the never-ending dance. "That was me making a move."

"Was it a one-time thing?" he teased, smirking tugging at his mouth. "Because a man could very well die if-"

"Shutup," she laughed quietly, shaking her head. A blush began to form at her neck, rising to her cheeks and turning them bright red. "Come on, we'd better open that door because people start_ talking_," she rolled her eyes, and it was amazing how light and free she felt now, like a heavy weight had been lifted off of her back by allowing herself to be with him.

"Emma, Emma wait." He stood, tucking himself back into his pants quickly as he made a move to follow. "What I said… I want you to know that I meant it. I'm sorry I told you like that, I didn't mean- I mean to say, I wanted to tell you that long ago, love, but I-"

"It's okay… and I know you meant it," she smiled reassuringly, grabbing his jacket and pulling him into a kiss. "But I'm not- I can't-" She fumbled for words that would sound less selfish, hoping that what she'd just done for him might have earned her a few points in that department – but came up with nothing. She just couldn't. Not yet. She couldn't make the words come out before she was ready.

"I know, love."

Emma waited for him to continue, but instead he just shrugged a little and smiled at her warmly, reassuringly, and slid his hand around her waist, pulling her close one, last time. He lingered there and rubbed at the small of her back, his lips brushing her temple.

"So does this mean I have someone to take to your parents' bloody ball after all?"

Emma froze; it took her a moment to remember her mother saying it was customary to plan a celebratory ball shortly after a royal child's birth, briefly recalling the blocked out conversation about gowns and dancing lessons and what colors would go nicely with her eyes and fishing for who she might want to bring as her date. It had all felt too heavy, too up in the air then. She laughed at the irony now, the implications of what she'd just done with him, of what she'd virtually confessed had meant.

Hook asked her what she was laughing about and she shook her head, cheek pressing against his chest and she closed her eyes.

Emma had never liked to dance.

But she could make an exception.


End file.
